Indecision
by Gene49
Summary: Claire stumbles upon a guy on a pile of trash. He's gorgeous underneath the dirt and torn clothes, but has a deadly secret. Unfortunatly, Claire gets dragged into the middle of a battle between good...and the ultimate evil.


The cold night air sent a chill through to my bones. I walked fast, pressing my hands in,hugging my sides. The sidewalk, barely visible under the moons rays, illuminated when i passed under the street lamps glow. Faint whispers eco in my ear, but when i look no one is around. The city I walk through seems to be deserted. I take in my surroundings and walk a little faster to hurry home. I pass alley after dark alley, not really bothering to peer in them.

Footsteps thud from behind me. My heartbeat quickens. I urge my legs to go a little faster, but yet not fast enough to draw attention to myself. I look over my shoulder and no one is there. My head is throbbing from earlier in the day and i feel fatigue. I hear a dog bark in the distance. I walk past an alley and notice something different from all the others.

Laying in a dirty heap on bags of garbage, I see a man. My heart drops into my stomach. I switch out of zombie mode and rush towardsthe piled trash. I knelt beside him and started patting him down searching for some sort of identification. Nothing. He breahes evenly and sighs. I take a good look at him. His clothes are dirty and torn, hair in a ray of mess, and face slightly dirty. Other than that, he was stunningly gorgeous.

I wiped at some of the dirt on his face and he stirred. I brushed a lock of his bronze hair out of his closed eyes. The feel of my touch woke him. His eyes shot open and he grabbed my hand.

Startled, I try to pull away. His black eyes wide, with all i could assume, fear.

"Help me." he croaked. I shook my head trying to clear it.

"Who are you? What happened? Help you how?" I asked anxiously. His grip tightened around my fingers and he pulled me to him. His lips were at my ear. "They're coming. We must hide." his breath raspy.

I pulled back to look at him. "Who is coming?" I asked confused and a little scared. He just shook his head.

"Not here." Was all he said. He stumbled up and staggered forward. He had a gash on his head with blood caked on it. I went to the strangers side and put his arm aroundmy shoulder. Walking carefully out to the mouth of the alley I said, "I should take you to the hospital."

He shook his head. "No it's too dangerous. We must go somwhere safe." he looked at me.

"We could go back to my appartment." I suggested.

He nodded. "Good."

We walked down the street, stumbling due to me having to walk under his weight. My mind racingwith a million or two questions. I decided to ask the most important one. "Who are you?" I asked him looking up at his face. His dark eyes seemed distant. He hesitated, then sighed. "Patrick." he said softly looking at me.

I smiled. 'Patrick. what a lovely-' My thought was interrupted.

"And what, may I ask, is your name?" he asked in a gentlmenly way. I tried to find my voice. "I'm Claire." I managed. He smirked. "Thank you for saving me, Claire."

I didn't reply . I was deep in thought.

"Are you all right?" his forehead creased. My mind came back to the present.

"Sorry." I muttered. "Just thinking."

I thought I had almost seen a half smile tugging at his lips.

"It's not like I could've just left you laying there..." I trailed off. I kicked halfheartedly at an empty can in my way.

"But you still helped me, and for that I owe you my sincerest gratitude." he stopped walking and I did the same.

He gave me a deep flowing bow. 'What was he doing?' I thought.

I resumed walking as did he. We only had a block left till we got to my apartment. The full moon shone down on us. 'Was he still walking beside me?' I thought. I took a quick sideways glance in his direction. He was there.

'How was he so quiet?' I pondered about it until we got to the tall red-bricked appartment building I call home.

The little old homeless man sprawls at the bottom of the steps. A hand written sign in one hand, a little tin cup in the other. His hand-writing was sloppy and barely legible, but I knew what it was asking. I stopped in front of him.

"Evenin' Miss Clairie," he said straightening up a little. I smiled warmly down on him.

"How are you?" I asked, bending down to sit next to him. He put his shaking arm around my shoulders.

"Lookin' bright tonight. Moons lookin' brighter and brighter. Gets bigger all the time..." he trailed off eyeing Patrick standing beside me. I laughed.

"Oxie, this is Patrick, he um..." my brows furrowed in frustration. It was Patrick's turn to laugh. The sound made my heart race. "I'm a nomad for the most part," he finished my sentence. I stared at him.

"How do you do? My name is Patrick." he said bowing the way he had for me. I closed my mouth.

"Patrick, this is Oxie."

Oxie struggled a bit, but got up, and was face to face with Patrick. He saluted Patrick in a military stance and barked, "Private Oxford Muddley at your service."

I had to stiffle a giggle. Patrick nodded his head. "Nice to meet you Mr. Oxford."

"Oxie." he corrected him. A cold wind blew suddenly and furiously. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my torso.

"It's cold." Patrick murmured. He extended a hand out to me. "You should be inside." he said sternly. I nodded my head. Oxie went back to his seat, plopping down on the stone step. A blanket materialized out from behind him. He offered it to me.

"Oh no I can't. I need to be going anyway Oxie." I stated. The little old man nodded his head so fast I was afraid it might break off his brittle neck.

"Would you like to come up for the night? It's awefully cold..." I asked.

As if I'd planned it, another cold wind blew harshly around us. I shivered violently.

"I'm a tough old bird," he said, "Don't be worrying your pretty little head. I'll be just fine out here. I got this fine blanket." he lifted the blanket for emphasis.

I shook my head, and sighed. "Alright, I don't like it, but ok."

I bent down and kissed his wasted cheek. He smiled up at me.

"Sweet dreams Oxie." I murmured.

I dug in my pocket and retrieved a five dollar bill. I stuck it in his little tin cup. He started to protest. I held up a hand. "Buy yourself a nice breakfast. I'll see you in the morning."

Before he could say anything, I turned and headed up the stairs with patrick silently at my side. I shook my head smiling. Stubborn old man.

We walked up the old worn down staircase to the second floor. My little apartment was the second to last door on the left. I reached for my keys automatically in my pocket. My fingers found their purchase. The door opened effortlessly. Tucking my keys back in my pocket, I flip on the light switch. I felt a wave of ease settle over me as i looked around my familiar surroundings. I turned to see Patrick still at the door. He hadn't set a foot past the thresh-hold. His head was down, like he was ashamed. I was confused.

"May I come in?" he asked quietly raising his head enough to lock his eyes with mine. I had to be the one to look away first.

"Of course you can come in. Come on we have to fix you up." I turned away and started heading for the bathroom. "You can wait on the couch. I'll be right back." I called over my shoulder.

The prehistoric first-aid kit was buried in the back of the medicine cabinet. I snatched it up and jogged to the living room. Patrick was sitting there, still as a stone statue. His dark yeys were closed, his head tilted back. The light shone on his skin, making the dark shadows under his eyes more vivid. His face was peaceful. I noticed for the first tme what he looked like. He was handsome, with prominant chek bones, a strong chin, and full lips.

I almost didn't want to wake him, but I had to tend to his wound. I decided it would be safest to gently wake him.

Gently I shook his shoulder. He didn't stir.

"Patrick." I whispered, shaking shoulder again. Nothing.

The gash on his head seemed less serious in the light. I raised my hand and softly probed the cut.

He sighed at the touch of my finger. I didn't have time to process what happened next.

One minute I was wiping antiseptic gauze on his forehead, the next his arm flashed out and caught my wrist in in his shackle of a grip. I tried to pull away but his other arm flashed out and grabbed my other wrist .

"Patrick wha-" he had gathered both of my hands in one of his. Before I could finish talking, he pulled out a rag from behind him and pressed it over my face. It smelled wrong. I struggled as much as i could before darkness swallowed me and I lost all consiousness.


End file.
